Kallum's Fury (Lake of Dragons Book 2)

by E. Michael Mettille

  The two men continued on into darkness for roughly an hour more before another notable sound stood out among the eerie song of a night in the forest. The rumble of hoof beats on the trail increased as a horse obviously approached. It would be quite odd for a rider of Druindahl to make that much noise while moving through the forest. They were normally far too stealthy to be heard until they were right on top of their target, if they were heard at all. On the other hand, unless a horse was spooked, it more than likely would not be moving that quickly through the forest without a rider. Both men stopped and stood their ground. Neither drew their sword. Within moments, an orange glow matching the dome surrounding them came into view up the trail a stretch. The speed at which it approached was impressive considering the darkness surrounding it.

  Borgan and Fielstag kept their eyes trained on the approaching orange glow. The hoof beats of the horse were downright loud by this point. The rider’s mission definitely had nothing to do with stealth. As the stranger approached, the two warriors of Havenstahl were increasingly able to make out his form in the orange glow from his torch. His helmet and chest plate were prang, brilliantly shining even in the dim, orange glow. His sleeves were red, the color of Druindahl. Their particular hue matched the ribbons streaming behind his massive, brown horse perfectly. Once he was roughly ten feet from Fielstag and Borgan, the rider abruptly stopped.

  “You have entered into protected lands,” Boringas’s voice was strong and dripped authority. “State your names and what business you have in this wood.”

  Fielstag’s voice failed to match the authority accompanying Boringas’s words. On the contrary, his were quick and fell from his mouth amid heavy breaths, “We be riding under the banner of Havenstahl. Monsters and giants from across the Great Sea have lain her under siege and her people be fleeing to the safety of your forest. Them people be riding a slow caravan down the road from Havenstahl, and ye be knowing what a treacherous road that be.”

  Boringas gripped the reins of his horse as he continued his line of questions, “I can tell you are soldiers. Why have the two of you fled your posts and journeyed ahead of the people you protect?”

  “We be riding by command of our queen, sir,” Fielstag replied. “She be requesting assistance from the great city of Druindahl. We be on an errand to take her message to your king. There be grizzly mongs just a mile or so off of the trail when we left. I be praying the queen ain’t dead.”

  “Grizzly mongs?” the authority in Boringas’s voice briefly fled in place of shock. “What are grizzly mongs doing this far south? They have never ventured this far south.” He paused as the idea turned over in his head a few times. It would have to wait. “Things have changed dramatically here in Druindahl. We have no riders to spare, and our king has been dethroned in favor of a former princess. Cialia now rules this land as her queen.”

  “Cialia,” Fielstag gasped. “Her mother be in trouble as well. She be on the trail too.”

  “I will take you to my queen,” the authority had returned to his tone. “I believe she now slumbers, but this is news she will wish to hear.” He turned his horse around, looked back, and said, “Mount your horses and stay close to my backside. The trail is ample if you know her twists and turns.”

  Fielstag and Borgan did as Boringas had commanded. Neither had experienced a night ride through the forest at the speeds they were achieving. Boringas knew the wood well. They traveled roughly five miles in just around fifteen minutes. That was good time for a ride through the forest during the light of day. Fielstag had forgotten much of what he had seen when last he was in the city. He remembered enough to not be surprised when Boringas halted them in what seemed to be just a random spot on the trail. Immediately above their heads, torches blazed and well-lit wooden walkways spanned from tree to tree where large platforms and buildings wrapped around them, even among their highest branches. They couldn’t see any of it from where they stood. That was the secret, the mystery of Druindahl. Lights shined up in the canopy, but from the forest floor no one would ever know. The city in the trees was completely hidden.

  Boringas let out a sharp, brief whistle. Shortly after, an elegant cart smoothly lowered to the forest floor from far up in the canopy. Immediately after it touched down, three men rushed up out of the darkness. Once the riders had dismounted, each of those three men ushered one of the horses away into the blackness surrounding them. Borgan looked over at Fielstag and raised his eyebrows over a frown.

  As if Boringas had noticed the gesture, he said, “Do not fret over your horses. They will be taken to the stables, fed, cared for, and given proper rest.” Then he raised his right arm toward the cart that had lowered from the trees, bowed, and said, “Welcome to Druindahl.”

  Both Borgan and Fielstag bowed in response. Then the three men entered the cart together. The movement of the thing was far smoother than either of the visitors imagined a cart being hauled up into the trees would be. Some serious engineering had obviously gone into its design. The entire journey lasted roughly half a minute, and by the time they reached a wide, wooden platform, the forest floor was lost in darkness.

  Once off the cart and on the platform, Fielstag took a moment to look around at the construction. Wooden paths sprawled out in every direction, connecting large, circular buildings that incorporated the shapes and angles of trees into their construction. This was no rude structure slapped together haphazardly by hurried men with crude tools. The paths were smooth, and detailed reliefs had been carved into the wide posts supporting the railings. Those reliefs told the history of Ouloos through the images they portrayed. As Fielstag appreciated the design and construction of the place, the idea that all of the grandeur of it could exist completely invisible to the ground below made it appear even more amazing to him.

  The two soldiers from Havenstahl fell in step behind Boringas, neither able to hold back their awe. The leader of Druindahl’s army led them across a great bridge, then left and then right, through numerous curves the path made around trees, up several steps, and then across another great bridge. The three kept a swift pace, any faster and they would have been jogging. Even with the speed with which they walked, Fielstag and Borgan found time to admire their surroundings. The lights were perhaps the most amazing feature. It wasn’t really the lights themselves that were notable though. The shades they bore, those were truly amazing. Cast of fine prang and resembling two bells—one above and one below—they were connected to each other by a wide strip. The lower bell was upside down with its mouth opening to the bell above it. The space between them was impossibly thin. Still, each lamp cast an ample beam of light on the path, bright enough that it appeared to be bathed in the sun’s full glory. Fielstag thought on what the inner workings of those lamps might be, probably something with mirrors.

  Boringas finally halted at a wide stairway leading up two stories to an ornate archway, “It is amazing. The name of the man who crafted it escapes me, but he carved much of what makes Druindahl so beautiful to behold with his own hands.” He paused for a moment and added, “And his work has stood the test of time.”

  “The detail in all of these carvings be like nothing I ever seen,” Borgan commented, his voice drenched in awe, “but that arch be a gem that be standing out among the treasures.”

  “It is,” Borgan agreed. “Look at the detail on those dragons. That deep red color they all share has never been touched up or reworked. That work stands as it has always stood. It is truly amazing. I have walked beneath that arch more than one thousand times, and each time I am overcome with reverence for the great work Coeptus can do through the hands of men. It is hard to believe the piece was carved from one big chunk of wood.”

  The three men stared up at the thing for several moments, admiring the beauty of it. The top of the arch consisted mostly of a perched dragon spreading her wings—an image of Helias no doubt—with her head turned up and fire ushering forth from her mouth. Along either side of it were other, smaller images of dragons; some
flew, others walked, and still others perched. Each of them appeared so life-like they might fly up into the darkness at any moment. Each man—even the one who had spent his life admiring the work—let out a slight gasp at one moment or another when sheer amazement finally filled them to the point they could no longer hold it all in. Such was the quality and detail of the work. If the eyes of a man stared long enough, those dragons seemed to come to life, moving as if sweet Coeptus had blessed them with souls and beating hearts. It was always the trick of an overly impressed mind, of course, but none could spend very long admiring it without being fooled.

  It was Boringas who broke the spell when he said, “Unless she slumbers, the queen sits beyond that arch. We should make our way to her.”

  Fielstag and Borgan both nodded their agreement, and the three men began up the stairs. Unable to completely break free of the spell those expertly crafted dragons held on them, the journey up the tall flight of stairs lasted far longer than it needed to. Eventually, they made the peak and passed beneath the object of their fascination only to be faced with a doorway matching it perfectly ten feet beyond it. This one was not carved from wood and painted to perfection. This one was cast of fine prang and glimmered in the light shining on it from those amazing lamps. Two guards stood at attention, one on either side of the doorway. Both bowed slightly as the three men approached.

  Boringas faced the guard on the right and said, “Is the queen inside?”

  “She is, sir,” the guard replied. “Shall I announce your presence?”

  “That will not be necessary,” Boringas shook his head. “There have been developments demanding far more haste than ceremony. I will announce myself.”

  Boringas pushed the two, heavy doors open. Crafted in the same shimmering prang as the doors, the walls inside the room they opened into seemed to glow. Reliefs—obviously carved with the same meticulous care and attention to detail as those decorating the wood along the paths of the city—adorned all four of them; stories played out in pictures evenly spaced around the room, midway between floor and ceiling. The artfully-crafted memories seemed to float in the warm glow like silhouettes of gulls soaring in the blazing, orange brilliance of the setting sun. Both Fielstag and Borgan lost another gasp as they entered the throne room and stepped onto a carpet running the length of it from the doors to two thrones; one empty and one occupied by a person who bore a face both men recognized. Somehow that face seemed older and more terrible than either man remembered.

  “Where are the guards?” Boringas asked with the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. “I realize you said you had no need of them, but I sent them back to you for a purpose.”

  Cialia raised her vine-crowned head and replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “I told you I have no need of guards. That has not changed, and it will not change. My mind is connected to everything, sweet Boringas. You need those men for your army far more than I need them standing around my throne room.”

  “If your mind truly be connected to everything, then ye be knowing of the plight of our people,” the words tumbled out of Fielstag’s mouth before he could stop them.

  “What plight?” Cialia’s eyes narrowed.

  “Apparently your focus has been elsewhere,” the irritation in Boringas’s voice grew to something just shy of disrespect. “These two soldiers have come to us ahead of a great caravan from Havenstahl. It appears the greatest city of men has been set upon by an enemy who has no fear of her might.”

  “The army of Havenstahl has fallen?” Cialia’s tone echoed her shock.

  “Not at all,” Fielstag held his head high. “The great fallon be waging war against giants, trogmortem, and grongs. Borgan and me seen many battles, right at the front. That enemy came with great numbers though, and they be fighting with a fury we ain’t before seen. Your mother, she be guiding the people that ain’t built for the fighting here; all that be going anyhow. The road from there to here be treacherous, and we be boasting but a small number to defend the lot of them…”

  “Grizzly mongs,” Boringas interrupted, “hundreds of them threaten the trail. These two come in search of assistance from the great riders of Druindahl. Sadly—due to recent developments—we haven’t the numbers to be of much assistance.”

  Cialia’s head dropped into her right hand and she remained that way for several moments. When she finally raised her eyes back up to the three men addressing her, fear danced all about them. “How long ago?” she asked.

  “We been to the trail three days,” Fielstag replied.

  “They could be dead,” the volume of Cialia’s voice had fallen to barely a whisper. “My mother could be dead.”

  “Aye,” Fielstag agreed. “I be hoping it ain’t so, but them monsters from the north been well too near to that road than to think it could be otherwise. Thousands upon thousands be travelling in that caravan. There ain’t no place for numbers like that to be hiding and they ain’t moving nowhere with any kind of speed. That confrontation be inevitable. I just be hoping it ain’t happened yet.”

  Cialia raised her arms up to them, bringing the room to silence. Then her hands moved to either side of her face as her index fingers began to rub slow, deliberate circles on her temples. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. That breath remained in her lungs for several moments. When she finally released it slowly through her mouth and opened her eyes back up, they were as red as the dragons carved into the archway outside the throne room. Her body trembled slightly as her breathing became even and steady. Fielstag looked over to Boringas as if to speak, but the general raised his index finger to his lips and then pointed to Cialia.

  Several quiet moments passed as the queen continued to rub slow circles on her temples. All the while those red eyes gazed through the three men standing before her. Physically she sat before them, but her mind had left the room. It travelled through the paths of Druindahl and down to the forest floor. It raced over the mountains and along the road Fielstag and Borgan had followed to find the hidden city in the trees. Finally, she found men fighting massive beasts with long, matted, white fur, horrible claws, and fangs that looked useful for tearing flesh. She drew the men in and away from the fight.

  Pulling the men close, Cialia continued just a little farther down the trail where hundreds upon hundreds of wagons sat parked in random circles on either side of it. In and around those were the thousands of scared, hungry people huddled together, terrified by the impending doom. Cialia drew them all to her. She reached out with her mind and connected them all as if she were physically tying them to a long rope. Once she was connected to each and every one, she pulled them back with her; back along the trail toward Druindahl, back over the mountains, and back into the trees. Once there, she left the wagons and the people on the forest floor with peaceful thoughts in their heads. After all that had been alive on the trail from Havenstahl were safe within the trees below the great city of Druindahl, she pulled back to throne room and closed her eyes again.

  The three men cowered before the horrible queen, dreading the moment those fiery eyes would open again and what that might mean to their hides. All of them gasped when two more queens appeared next to them, seemingly out of thin air. Leisha, the former Queen of Druindahl and Perrin, Queen of Havenstahl materialized before their eyes, holding each other tightly and burying their faces in one another’s shoulders. Thankfully, when Cialia’s eyes opened again, the red color had fled in favor of the soft blue Boringas had fallen in love with so many years ago. She leapt from her throne and ran to the two bewildered women whom she had just pulled through space.

  “Mother, you are safe,” she cried as she wrapped her arms around both women.

  Leisha raised her head up and looked around. “Where are we?” she asked. Before anyone could respond she asked another question, “How did we get here?”

  “You are safe in Druindahl, mother,” Cialia replied quite breathless. “I brought you here.”

  Then Perrin lifted her head and look
ed at Cialia, “Where be all me people?” She pulled away from the new queen’s embrace as she asked the question. “If ye have left them to be fending for themselves, send me back there so I can be dying with them.”

  “Your people are quite safe,” Cialia comforted the bewildered queen. “I brought you all back here to the safety of Druindahl. They are under the city on the forest floor. All of their wagons and supplies have made their way as well. You are all safe and under my protection.”

  Leisha looked her daughter in the eye and asked, “Where is the king?”

  “Druindahl has no king and probably never will,” Cialia’s reply was curt.

  “What did you do Cialia?” Leisha’s eyes narrowed. “Where are all the guards?”

  “I have no need of guards, mother. I am perfectly capable of caring for myself,” she paused, “and anyone else who comes along.”

  “It would appear you are getting quite comfortable with your power,” Leisha continued to eye her daughter suspiciously. “What have you done with the king?”

  “Honestly, mother,” Cialia sighed and withdrew from the embrace, “you look at me as if I am some kind of monster. The king was unfit for the throne, so I relieved him of it. He now serves as my advisor.”

  “What did he do to make him unworthy of the throne I gave him?”

  “He let our fair city fall to vicious men who cared more for coin than the people they were sworn to protect and he…” Cialia stopped as she noticed the burn on Perrin’s face. “Sweet girl, what has happened to you?” she asked. “Where is my brother?”

  Perrin shook her head, “Your brother still be absent. He might be too much for the trail, but he wouldn’t never be causing me no harm like what me face shows. What’s been done to me face been done by me son.”